


lolita

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Music, Peter and Isaac are complete music geeks, so much music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kid is leaning against a broken jukebox, wearing a tattered Pixies t-shirt and imitation Doc Martens, tapping long, elegant fingers with blunt nails along to no music.  His hair is all over the place and Peter thinks he might be wearing eyeliner, or maybe he’s been in a fight or two, or perhaps he spends his nights here and his days somewhere else, never sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lolita

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at like 2am a couple of days ago, found it in some obscure folder in the depths of my hard drive this afternoon, tried to edit out all of the bad parts but probably failed, so. enjoy?

They need a new bassist.

Peter thinks they can manage, he really does, but then Derek flips out in the middle of his favourite Sex Pistols number and smashes his Fender Precision into pieces, storms off the stage, and disappears for weeks, months, no-one really knows.

Of course, if he thinks Isaac is any more stable, then he’s got another thing coming.

He finds him in a seedy bar downtown, the kind of place Peter frequents regularly (they’re not big enough for swankier locations, still playing more covers than originals). There aren’t any beermats, only one table, and Peter sits at the bar, nursing a whiskey in warm hands.

The kid is leaning against a broken jukebox, wearing a tattered Pixies t-shirt and imitation Doc Martens, tapping long, elegant fingers with blunt nails along to no music. His hair is all over the place and Peter thinks he might be wearing eyeliner, or maybe he’s been in a fight or two, or perhaps he spends his nights here and his days somewhere else, never sleeping. Either way, the rest of him is pale and long and without a drink, so Peter buys a beer and saunters over, suddenly feeling all wrong in a Sonic Youth shirt his ex- _wife _bought him and a waistcoat he’d thrown on to elevate himself above the kinds of people you found in these kinds of places (except now he’d rather be in the gutter with this kid in the drainpipe jeans).__

__But there mustn't be anything wrong with the way he’s dressed, judging by the coy look he receives from beneath the kid’s eyelashes. He holds out the beer and the boy takes it from him, no smile, no thanks._ _

__“Isaac,” he says, and Peter repeats the name, nods, cocks his head and considers it._ _

__“Peter,” he says back, and it’s all that’s necessary, in a place like this, because a minute later they’re in the back alley, Peter’s dick in Isaac’s sweet, sweet mouth, hand in his hair, and he thinks he’s in fucking love. Isaac doesn't say much, doesn't seem to want to use words, but the noises he makes are obscene, little keens and whines and moans. Peter can’t think about Derek or the band or that R.E.M. LP he’s been wanting since he was about ten, no, everything is Isaac and the nails digging into his hips, Isaac palming his own crotch, Isaac’s hooded eyes glancing up, pupils blown wide, and then he’s coming so fucking hard he can’t see straight when he opens his eyes._ _

__When he finally gets his senses back, Isaac is close, so close, and Peter drags him into his chest, plants a hard kiss on those sweet lips and tastes himself, manages to get a hand between the two of them, jerks Isaac off for a few seconds before he comes with a choked cry and collapses into Peter’s arms, all warmth and sweat and sex._ _

__Peter has a suspicion that Isaac has never done this before – which both disappoints and exhilarates him simultaneously – because once the kid has pushed away to stand on his own two feet, zipped up his jeans and wiped his hands on his jacket, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He bites his lip and stares at Peter as though asking for guidance, but the elder of the two is finding the situation far too amusing to help Isaac out. He brings his thumb to his mouth, cleans it off a lot more sophisticatedly than the adolescent standing in front of him did, and grins as Isaac watches intently, hands clenched at his sides, eyes wide._ _

__And then the kid ruins everything._ _

__Okay, not exactly. What happens next is actually fucking great. It’s just that there’s a sensual, post-coital, back alley seduction going on in Peter’s mind, at least, and he’s about to make his second move, but Isaac suddenly looks very his age, very excited, and he’s adorable, a fucking puppy, Peter thinks._ _

__This is the first time it’s happened, ever, in the twenty years Peter’s been wearing the wristband, since his sixteenth fucking _birthday _. Isaac’s eyes zero in on his wrist, on the scrap of material Peter has treasured for two decades, now, and he says, “Is that – that wristband – does that… does that say fucking _Game Theory _on it?”_____ _

______“Yes…” Peter says slowly, because this is quite possibly the greatest moment of his entire life._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Like, the band, Game Theory? Jangle pop, Scott Miller, Lolita Nation? _That _Game Theory? You like _Game Theory _?”_____ _ _ _ _ _

__________And that’s how they end up back at Peter’s, rifling through his record collection and fucking on the couch to Isaac’s favourite Pixies album (Come On Pilgrim, just so you know, “because Ed Is Dead is fucking great, Peter”)._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________When Peter wakes up the following morning, someone else’s hair in his face, moulded into his couch, desperate for a piss but unwilling to wake the wiry collection of limbs currently attached to his neck, he knows that he is royally fucking screwed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________(When he finds out Isaac plays bass like Kim Deal, there are no auditions, no consultations with the other band members, nothing, nada, not a second of hesitation – Isaac is in)._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Derek used to play with such angry intensity that he’d simply stand stock still, feet planted firmly on the stage, veins bulging as he tried to restrain whatever part of him wanted to escape; Isaac is the complete opposite. Everything he does is all wild abandon, loose limbs, curled hair shaking sweat in all directions, and he’s at one end of the stage, then the other, jumping and running around Peter, sometimes kneeling at his feet (always when they play The Sex Pistols’ Submission, fucking always), and Peter thinks it’s the best decision he’s ever made, he really does._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They write songs. They tour. They make money, more than enough money, and they sell albums, make it into the kinds of magazines that ignore the charts on purpose. Derek calls up sometimes, talks to Stiles, Erica, Boyd, anyone but Peter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________But Isaac swings from the right side of crazy to the wrong side, takes little pills Peter doesn’t know the names of, drinks too much and shouts too much, leans over balconies and blacks out for hours on end. His body is covered in tiny little bruises, and Peter frowns at them, would kiss them if Isaac let him (he doesn’t). They stay up all night wearing huge Koss headphones Peter has had since the ‘80s, staring at each other without speaking. Isaac likes to stare into the record player as it spins, eyes following the turn of the black vinyl, and Peter has long since stopped asking him why._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________It would scare Peter, probably, except it doesn’t, because they’re one and the same. They can’t deal with this life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________And he doubts they could deal with a normal life any better._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the game theory album 'lolita nation'.  
> (sorry about all the game theory).


End file.
